


Final Night

by hydesboy



Category: Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:42:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydesboy/pseuds/hydesboy
Summary: In the silence, there is nothing one can do but thinkApproach with caution so you can have the best possible time with reading things. There's canon complacent unpleasantness and I want you guys to be safe!!I also definitely don't own the rights to the franchise, and Silent Hill (1-4: The Room) and all involved characters belong to Team Silent (Konami)
Kudos: 4





	Final Night

The sound of rain thundered loud overhead, but inside it was as dry as the grave. The relative quiet was broken briefly once by the sound of a passing truck trying to avoid the early morning traffic by leaving even earlier still.  
It was the sort of hour where only the rarest souls would still willingly be in the waking world when the safety of dreams waited to fill the hours with a welcome unreality that could only come with sleep.

The man was more aware of the bitter copper taste in his mouth than the insistent dull ache in his cheek. A guard in the prison had gotten it in their head that an unrepentant child-killer was deserving of pain, and he had done nothing to defend himself from the attack, nor any that had come in the past.  
With pain came purity. With pain came resolve.  
Mother would be so proud of him sitting there locked behind bars.  
If mother was proud of him then the hell he went through would all be worth it in the end.

From a young age, Walter Sullivan knew what he must do, and now, after so many years it was finally in fruition. He worked, and he suffered for this, and his imprisonment was not going to get in the way of this. His resolve was not weakened, but rather strengthen the day he was hauled off and locked away from the world that Paradise would cleanse. He knew that what he was doing was right, what needed to be done. He had seen the filth of the world, but when he completed the 21 Sacraments the world shall be made right.  
And mother would wake up.  
And mother would be so proud of him.

While he had been accused of the death of two children, a horrible crime by itself and made no better given that he was more than willing to admit to this, there had already been ten who had died by his hand. Each death a scar in his mind, but he never would let them heal.  
Each death a worthy sacrifice, the Ten Hearts completed with ease.

The first heart:  
The foolish Red Devil, red for the lingering stain of past blood from the executions committed under the watchful eyes of the God the damned priest gave his life to. A man of such a twisted faith had no place teaching the younger generation of such abhorrent beliefs. Devote priest Jimmy Stone saw not the barrel of the gun that cut his pitiful life short, the pages of the holy scriptures of Valtiel scattering about him as the crimson rubies spoiled the floor that was supposed to serve as sanctuary to the man. His lifeless form was as heartless in death as he was in life.  
01/21

The second heart and third heart:  
Curiosity has such a way of throwing any sense of caution to the wind. Rumours of the devil walking among man seemed to be an irresistible opportunity calling their names, and through their substance addled minds Bobby Randolph and Sein Martin truly believed the rewards they could reap outweighed the risks. The rumours were proven true, as the light of day shone on the now eternally still forms of the two that let the curiosity imbedded in their hearts overpower the rationality of their minds. It was not their brains that left them in death.  
02/21 & 03/21

The fourth heart:  
A grudge can spark something far darker than mere bitterness. Steve Garland learnt this the hardest possible way, for a flash of unkept anger a good twenty-six years ago brought forth something darker than he could have ever anticipated. The panicked cacophony of animals that had no means of freeing themselves of their cages was drowned out by nothing bar the rain of bullets that cut the lives of each creature short indiscriminately. The man's only relief was that his final breath fell before he had to see the snuffing of the animals' lives. Had he a heart open for his fellow man in life, he certainly did not in death.  
04/21

The fifth heart:  
If you enjoy your job, they say you never work a day in your life, for each and every day would be but play. If you were to ask Rick Albert this, he'd assure you that this is the only way one ought to live. So kind was he that he offered a part time job to the scrawny young lad who was out on his luck. Even if the young man seemed oddly invested in the recent string of murders, he didn't hold it against him as he was hardly the only one to be fascinated. Though he couldn't help but wonder how he knew so much about the crimes, though the ponderances were cut short by a swing of a golf club that found home in the back of his skull. If his heart wasn't so big, perhaps he would have been able to keep it.  
05/21

The sixth heart:  
Whispering secrets of a daemon-like god, or god-like daemon, let the spirit be tainted so deliciously with darkness. Guiding a child from the path of the good in favour of the path of the righteous could never lead to anything but harm, but so devoted was Father George Rosten that he could not see the darkness his success brought. To implant a demon into the heart of a man robs him of the humanity we so crave, but he was not permitted the time to reflect on his actions for his life was cut short by the gross misuse of a lead pipe. It was doubtable that his heart could have taken the results of his devotion.  
06/21

The seventh heart and the eighth heart:  
They were but children, twins who couldn't have been more than ten, Billy and Miriam Locane had their whole lives ahead of them. Straying further from their house than they should have in their childish games, a swing of an axe brought the wee lad to take his final breath, a fate that would have been shared by his sister had she not had the insolence to cry out for her mother, a privilege the man never had. From a blind fury, they couldn't find all of her. They were their parents' sweethearts, but in death they were not even that anymore.  
07/21 & 08/21

The ninth heart:  
Odd dreams plagued the mind of the elderly watchmaker after a brief interaction with a strange young man, but that was sixteen years ago and William Gregory could hardly link the interaction so many years ago to the man who stood alone in the store, the tool glittering in an oddly malicious manner in the occasionally flickering light. He may have been old, but he was not incompetent and as the realisation dawned that his life was in danger, it was almost fascinating to see how quickly he fled into the workroom, praying he could keep the distance between them. The screwdriver used in the deed was one of his own, and he couldn't help but find it ironic that a tool of his trade was the last thing he felt in this mortal coil. He was old, his heart simply couldn't take it, but then, it was racing so strongly in its cavity before it was forced into stillness.  
09/21

The tenth and final heart:  
It was an honour to be chosen as the final sacrifice of the first stretch of the ritual, and yet the bartender was so dreadfully afraid. Had he not let his nerves get the better of him, he may still be walking among us, for safety came in numbers, but a rash decision to isolate himself created the perfect opportunity for the man he feared to find him. Perhaps Eric Walsh was lucky, for he was hardly given the chance to ponder the person who broke so ceremoniously into his house before the bullet lodged itself in his brain, his end coming so blissfully swift. He was never said to have the bravest of hearts, but all hearts look the same in dead, still and cold.

Walter Sullivan was proud of his work.

With the years of skills developed and understandings strengthened, it had gone by largely without a hitch. Years of The Order's teachings enlightened him, this clarity guiding his actions against the outcry it caused. It was what he must do, and so even if the whole world was against him he would complete his task. Years of study perfected his skills, a surgical precision enabling him to seamlessly do what he must.

But why was it that he was so afraid of carrying out the next step?

To be free of the bindings and hindrances of the flesh and take the power of Heaven onto him was an honour, a privilege that was bestowed upon him when the time comes. Yet, when he had decided it was time to complete the Ritual of the Holy Assumption he found himself afraid. He had not been afraid when he decided that the coming day would mark the end of his life and beginning of his next and grander life, but as the time drew near he found himself swamped with feelings of trepidation that he had thought were long since left in the past.

Would it hurt?

Surely it was a weakness of the human mind, to fear death even when it was necessary.

Had those whose lives had been cut short by his hand for holy purpose felt the fear that raced through and shocked his nerves beneath his cool disposition. Surely not, for their deaths had come with a greater purpose than their lives would have ever brought.

His death would be with purpose, and yet he still found himself afeard. 

For a moment, he was all too aware of the pain in his cheek, his jaw, and he distractedly brought a hand up to explore the still bruising surface. The one who hit him must have been wearing a ring, if the scabbing marks that were left were anything to go by.

Pain was transitory, it would take him into the world between life and death, but he could not help but fear it. Mankind was riddled with fears and uncertainties, but when he was done and the 21 Sacraments were complete then the Paradise will be free from such horrid feelings.

Mother would be so proud of him. He would take his life for the cause, and it will be wonderful.

Walter found himself in two minds, or rather his mind was shared. The man was afraid, hesitant to be rid of his life even if it was so dreadfully filled with more pain than any young man should ever have to feel. The daemon would not let him give up, for it had been put in play and there was nothing that could bring it to a premature ending, not now, not ever, no matter how weak the flesh was.  
Walter was no longer fully himself, a vessel for a part of the daemoniac angel Valtiel. From the moment the entity left a part of itself in his mind, there was no turning back.  
But there was nothing for him to turn back to face, so his hands were not so very tied. When life was so cruel to him, it was a holy and good service to purify and cleanse the cruel world that had caused him so much pain.

In the almost silence of the prison, the man bowed his head in prayer, the words that had been so reinforced in his childhood that the words came out with ease, flowing like a song in the night, filling the room with his pious beliefs.

Tomorrow, Walter Sullivan would die by his hands without a single soul in the world to feel the loss, but in the dark, he was nothing of a holy, near divine soul, but rather a frightened young man who simply wanted to be with his mother.


End file.
